


part of your palette, a shade of blue

by TheFandomLesbian



Series: Spencer's Raulson One-Shots [54]
Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, foxxay - Freeform, raulson - Freeform, soft smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:48:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23299600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFandomLesbian/pseuds/TheFandomLesbian
Summary: Cordelia goes to the swamp to sprinkle Misty's ashes. There, she finds Misty alive and well--and refusing to return to the coven out of fear of being hurt again. Cordelia will bring her home, no matter what it takes to convince Misty that she is safe and loved.
Relationships: Misty Day/Cordelia Foxx | Cordelia Goode
Series: Spencer's Raulson One-Shots [54]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1214643
Comments: 9
Kudos: 66





	part of your palette, a shade of blue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rabexxpaulson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabexxpaulson/gifts).



> For two dialogue prompts: "Your eyes are so pretty," and, "How do I know I can trust you?" for Foxxay. 
> 
> Also for rabexxpaulson, my memory foam mattress.

“Then, you sketched the trees, and a path underneath for those who leave. And I am a lover, and a friend to you; a part of your palette, a shade of blue. Then, you drew the scenery, and all the birds in the sky. They rode for me, and I have you grateful by my side. You're all my colors and my light.” Rosemary and Garlic, “I’m Here”

...

It was time to say goodbye. Cordelia knew this. She had made her peace with losing Myrtle. She had reached out and found Madison and Nan again. And she had looked deep into the eyes of Papa Legba and asked, “Misty Day. I want her back. I’ll do whatever it takes.” She knew he would most likely ask for her soul, or for a sacrifice, or for both. 

Instead, his red eyes flashed, and he chuckled. “She is not yours to bargain for, nor is she mine to give.” Cordelia reached out to him, stammering over more questions, but he disappeared, and she fought her way out of her hell in tears and no closer to Misty than she had been since Misty’s cold body crumbled to fine ash in her hands. She could do so much with her Supremacy, but she could not reach the one she had failed the most—Misty, who never would have been in that position if she had known herself well enough to see her own power. Misty had never wanted the Supremacy. She had only competed for it because Cordelia had pushed her. Now she was gone. 

With an urn in her arms, she strode through the swamp Misty had called home, following a worn, narrow path, like one frequently walked by a cat, and parted the foliage to step out into the beautiful clearing. Sunlight filtered down in rays over the sultry earth. Greens emerged from the garden, still filled with phlox and hibiscus, kept tended in rows with footprints visible. _It’s amazing how much impact her magic had._ Even in death, Misty’s magic kept the garden alive and thriving. Cordelia meandered through the rows. She inhaled deeply the floral, natural scent of the forest. It was so unlike the manufactured scents of flower shops in the city. 

Gingerly, Cordelia twisted the lid off of the heavy urn she had chosen for Misty. She tilted it and spread the ashes as she walked along the paths of the garden. This was what she had left of Misty. She thought it was right to do what Misty would’ve wanted her to do with it—give it back to the earth from whence it had come. Tears rolled down Cordelia’s cheeks, and she hitched uneven breaths as she moved between the rows, losing the battle to keep her composure. She had wept so many tears for Misty, but as she sprinkled the ashes upon the soil and watched what was left of Misty disappear before her eyes, her stomach twisted into knots again. _I’m so sorry, Misty._ She swallowed past a huge lump in her throat and continued to make serpentines through the rows until the urn was empty and what was left of Misty’s physical form had vanished, reclaimed by the earth which had fed her and given her shelter where humans had failed her during her short life. 

Tiptoeing past the garden, Cordelia headed to the shack. The door was slightly ajar, wood riddled with bullet holes where Hank had barged in and attempted to kill her. The busted eight track player had been replaced. _I wonder when she had the time to do that._ Cordelia brushed her hands over it. Even the dust had not settled on Misty’s home. The blankets on her ancient mattress were pushed down to the foot of the bed, the sheet popping off of the corner. On a reflex, Cordelia took it and slipped it back over the corner of the mattress. The blanket was soft and smelled fresh. Curly blonde hairs littered the pillow. Cordelia picked one of them off and watched it glint in the dim light where she held it up. “Oh, Misty,” she whispered, sinking down onto the worn, creaky mattress. She stretched out her body upon it, wrapping herself up in the blankets and burying her face in the pillow, and she wept, tears falling from her eyes into the cloth. Shuddering with the force of a sob, she kept her mouth closed to keep from making a sound. The world around her proceeded like nothing had happened to Misty at all. The sun shone brightly. The birds sang their songs. The wind blew and the garden flapped its happy leaves and petals, still nourished by a magic not yet faded from this earth. 

_It’s unusual,_ Cordelia knew, _for a witch’s magic to outlive her._ Typically, the effects of a witch’s spells died with her, save for some peculiar types of magic. But Misty Day had been no typical witch. Cordelia would never know another one like her. So Cordelia sobbed at the loss of her beautiful friend with her unusual magic and her hippie music and her outlandish fashion sense and her toothy smile and snorting laugh and the way her cerulean eyes lit up _just so_ when she figured something out. She mourned the touch of Misty’s calloused hands on her own when her eyes could no longer see Misty’s physical form, the way those hands never dodged or avoided her even when everyone else feared to touch her for what she might See. She mourned a friend who had trusted her so wholeheartedly that she had placed her life on the line for it… and lost. She mourned the future she would live without Misty, carrying this guilt. 

As her sobs quieted into silence, Cordelia wiped her face with the blanket. It wasn’t like anybody would use it to notice the snot streaks she left behind. She licked her dry lips. Her head throbbed, and her saliva had thickened into strings. _I’m thirsty._ She had a bottle of water in her purse, but she had left it in the vehicle in favor of carrying the urn, which she had placed on the dirt floor of Misty’s shack. It seemed a good place to leave it. She had no other purpose for it. She did not expect anyone else to die in the coven while she was its Supreme (and even then, an urn wasn’t exactly the type of thing she felt comfortable recycling), and she could hardly use it to collect pens or coins in good conscience. An empty urn had no purpose. Perhaps here it would collect water and be used as a bath for the birds or something else Misty would have loved for it. 

Outside the shack, the wind carried a melody to her. At first, Cordelia thought it was a mere illusion, but then it grew louder, approaching the shack. With a frown, she rolled out of the bed and stood. On cats’ feet, she crept nearer to the door, as the rock song played, the lyrics becoming clear. _Thunder only happens when it’s raining. Players only love you when they’re playing. Women, they will come and they will go. When the rain washes you clean, you’ll know._

Before she had the opportunity to process the lyrics, the door to the shack swung open on its rusty hinge, and Misty waltzed into the one-room building with a basket of tomatoes over one arm, a half-eaten one in her hand with the juices dribbling down her wrist all the way to her elbow. Azure eyes fluttered wide. The tomato muffled Misty’s yelp of surprise, and then she flung it. 

_Splat._ It flattened itself across Cordelia’s good blouse, knocking the breath out of her lungs. She looked down in shock as the juice and seeds and skin slid down her body and landed on the dirt. Mouth open, no sound came out of Cordelia. Her throat was paralyzed. Misty stood before her, alive, real, whole, with Fleetwood Mac coming from a walkman CD player in her pocket. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth and refused to move. _It’s a dream, it’s a dream, I’ll wake up and reality will be here again._ It wasn’t a dream, as Cordelia clawed herself in the thigh to try to wake up, focusing on the reality of the tomato juice soaking through her shirt. Twin tears trickled down her cheeks where she had just stemmed the flow. 

The CD player began to skip. Misty took it out of her pocket and turned it off. The tension crackled in the silence between them. “Miss Cordelia?” Misty pressed, her voice very delicate. “I—I’m awful sorry I just threw a mater at you.”

Jaw hanging open, Cordelia fumbled with her words. “I… Misty…” She blinked and more tears emerged. “You’re alive.”

Misty looked down at herself, as if to question the statement Cordelia had made. “Well, yeah, I reckon I am.” Cordelia approached her and wrapped her arms tightly around Misty’s middle. Misty didn’t reciprocate the hug, standing like a tree as Cordelia clung to her. Her body was soft but weathered. _How long has she been here?_ Cordelia wondered. She lifted her weeping eyes to Misty’s face. A tiny, uncomfortable smile crossed her countenance with the eye contact. “Your eyes are so pretty, Miss Cordelia.” 

“Oh, Misty.” Cordelia bowed her head forward, burying it in the crook of Misty’s shoulder, and as she lingered, Misty shared in her embrace, putting her arms around Cordelia’s back. “I missed you so much—” Her voice cracked. “I’m so sorry. I’m _so,_ so sorry. I went to Papa Legba to bring you back, he told me he couldn’t do it, I thought it was because of me—it’s because you were here, you were _already alive_ , oh my god—” _That was six weeks ago._ How much time had passed? How long had Misty been living out here, alone? Why hadn’t she come home? “I’m so sorry you suffered because of me…” 

Worn hands brushed over Cordelia’s hair, tucking it behind her ears. “‘S alright, Miss Cordelia… I ain’t mad about nothing. Didn’t suffer too long, anyhow. Couple of hours, maybe, before I dug myself up. No skin off my teeth.” She framed Cordelia’s face between her hands. “Stop your crying now, I’m alright.” 

Brown eyes found Misty’s. _A few hours?_ Misty had been back the _same day_ she had died? That was more than two months ago! “Why didn’t you come home? We missed you! _I_ missed you! I—” She clutched handfuls of Misty’s clothes again, expecting her to vanish into ash this time just like the last. “I thought I lost you forever…” Misty smelled so floral, so much like this place with its sticky heat and its manure and its flowers sprouting from the moist, salty earth. 

Misty tilted her head. “Honest, I didn’t know it meant that much to you.” She took Cordelia by the arm and led her out of the shack back into the sunlight, where the birds tweeted and the sunflowers swayed in the wind. “I figured you were living the time of your life up in New Orleans. Been reading about you in the newspapers, you know, the ones I can steal. You’re big news even in these little parts.” 

Cordelia’s lower lip trembled. Did Misty really think that? _You meant everything to me. You were my only friend._ “Misty, you’re my friend… I regretted every day that I didn’t save you. All I wanted was to bring you back to me.” She touched Misty’s hand. How did Misty think of herself as so inconsequential? She had turned Cordelia’s world upside down, and then she thought she could just leave? Why would she ever want to do that? “But—I found you, you can come home now, with me.” 

Sucking her teeth, Misty shook her head. “Uh-uh.” 

The stark refusal astonished Cordelia. “What? Why?”

“Y’all got a problem of killing each other. Ain’t taking part in it no more. I’m staying here where I’m safe. Not my circus, not my monkeys.” Misty broke away from Cordelia and headed across the garden. A bowl rested by the underside of a blackberry bush, and she began to pick through it, choosing the ripest of the black berries to harvest.

Pursuing her, Cordelia insisted, “But Misty—it’s safe now! Fiona’s gone! The witch hunters are dead!” Misty held out the bowl to her, an offering. Cordelia shook her head. _She isn’t taking this very seriously._ “I know you were hurt before, but I won’t let anyone do that again. I can protect you.” 

Dropping a blackberry in her mouth, Misty tilted her head. Her pale golden hair drifted in the wind, sparkling where the sun struck it, so careless and wild. “How do I know I can trust you?” The question punched Cordelia in the gut. As Misty chewed and swallowed, the blackberry juice left a remnant on her teeth. She licked it off. “I don’t mean this offensive, but… You ain’t got a very good track record for keeping anybody safe. I got myself burnt, that one’s on me. But—well, I heard what happened to Madison at the frat house. You didn’t know that they Frankensteined a boyfriend out of the morgue.” Cordelia wanted to protest, but she couldn’t. Misty was right. “You didn’t know when Fiona killed Madison—Nan told me that. Then, you didn’t know when Fiona killed Nan—”

“Nan is back.” 

“Still, how long did it take you to realize? I mean, I could’ve told you, but I was too busy rotting in a coffin.”

“But I found you.”

“Oh, I don’t blame you for that one. I was being stupid.” Misty walked under some pawpaw trees and picked some fruit. She squeezed one and rolled it in her hands, and then she took a knife from her pocket and began to peel it. “I don’t blame you for any of it, honest. You’re only one person, and there’s a metric fuck-ton of crazy around there you gotta manage. But—I just think maybe you’re a little naive.” _Naive? I was raised by Fiona!_ Cordelia would have described herself with many self-deprecating terms, but naive wasn’t one of them. Misty used her knife to scoop out the seeds of the fruit and let them fall to the earth. “Maybe not the best judge of character. I know I’m one to talk, but… I mean, c’mon, your husband _literally_ riddled my house with bullets. You should’ve seen what I had to clean up when I first got out here.” She held a piece of pawpaw to Cordelia. This time, Cordelia accepted. She needed something to chew on to keep her mouth from hanging open at Misty’s rebuke. “You’ve got a lot on your plate. I’m not gonna be another thing in your way. It’s safe around here now. You know where I am if you need me.” 

Cordelia champed on the pawpaw, which didn’t taste the way she expected it to, and she had to force herself to gulp it down. “But…” Misty had a point. How many witches had Hank killed while she naively trusted him with everything? She had placed the women and girls she was responsible for on a silver platter and allowed him to gobble them up. She might as well have been sauteing witch hearts on the stove and then spoon-feeding them to him. Misty had been fortunate enough to escape. What about the others? “Hank is dead now. So is Fiona. And I’ve got a handle on Madison.” 

“I’m sure you do.” Misty kept chewing on the pawpaw fruit. “I told you what I thought. You’re a great leader.” 

“Then why won’t you come home?” 

“Ain’t my home. This is.” 

“What about your tribe?” 

Misty snorted, a smile cracking across her face. “You know,” she said, dropping the seeds from the pawpaw fruit and the discarded skin when she had finished with it, “I’m starting to think my tribe might actually be these birds and squirrels. The gators. There’s a leucistic white out here. Couple people have spotted her. I’m guarding her. People will go through a great deal to make money off white gator skin. She needs somebody to take care of her.” 

Cordelia’s face twisted into a frown, growing desperate. “But you need somebody to take care of you, too.” She reached her hand out to Misty’s, clasping their hands together loosely. “What will change your mind?” she asked. “What can I do?” She could object to Misty’s complaints and criticisms until the sun went down, but nothing she could say now would change what had already happened to Misty. “I know I failed you—” Her eyes grew misty. How many times had she failed? How many people? “I will do anything to make it up to you.” 

A tiny, sad smile touched Misty’s face. She licked her thumb and wiped a tear from Cordelia’s reddened cheeks. “It ain’t nothing I got against you, Miss Cordelia. Ain’t nothing you done. This was always my first choice… I’m safe here. I know how to take care of myself. You got a whole slew of people relying on you. I’m not gonna be another one.”

“I want you to be. I care about you.” 

“I care about you, too.” Misty stuffed her knife back into her pocket. “But I’m telling you I’m alright. And I’ll be here if you need me, or if you just want me.” 

_I want you. I want you to come home with me, and then I want to not let go of you for two months, to make up for the two months I spent missing you._ Cordelia sucked on her bottom lip. Was it true that this place had always been Misty’s first choice? That she had never wanted to stay at Miss Robicheaux’s? She had come for her own safety, but Cordelia had thought—perhaps erroneously—that she had stayed for their friendship. Seeing the perplexion on her face, Misty hugged her and smelled her hair. Cordelia’s arms pulled around Misty’s body in a reflex. She couldn’t let go. Misty stood on her tiptoes and kissed the crown of her head. “Go home,” she said. Cordelia’s face crumpled. “I’ll miss you until I see you again.” 

“What if something happens to you while I’m not here?” Misty could claim to be safe, but this was the wilderness. There were alligators and venomous snakes and native Louisiana bears, deer and bobcats and snapping turtles, all things Misty wouldn’t always be able to protect herself from. If Misty was injured, there would be nobody to help her. What if she broke a leg and lay on the forest floor somewhere and slowly starved to death? 

“I’m pretty good at fixing myself.” Misty tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “But if I need you, I think I’ll find a way to let you know.” 

Letting go of Misty was among the most painful things Cordelia had ever done in her entire life. But she managed. She managed to gingerly pull her hands from Misty’s clothing, still staring deeply into her azure eyes which sparkled in the sunlight under the canopy of trees. “I’ll come back,” she promised.

“I know.” Misty grinned. “I’d miss you too much if you stayed away.” 

A soft laugh fluttered from Cordelia’s lips. “I’m not letting this go,” she reminded Misty, trying and failing to be stern. “I want you to come back with me… You belong with us.” _You belong with me._ She didn’t say it aloud, but from the way Misty’s eyes twinkled, she knew the meaning was clear. “You could benefit the coven in so many ways…”

“Why? You planning on more people dying?” Cordelia’s jaws parted, but Misty laughed at her before she could come to her own defense. “I’m teasing you, lilypad. You’re awful cute.” 

Cordelia’s cheeks flamed at the compliment. She ducked her head, unable to keep herself from smiling. How had this happened? For months, she had mourned Misty’s death, and now, she was leaving her behind. Why? Why wouldn’t Misty come with her? _I have to prove myself to her._ That had to be the only solution. The coven had broken Misty’s trust and hurt her in so many ways when she had done nothing but give to them. “Thank you, Misty.” Misty would come home, eventually. Cordelia just had to give her time. 

…

Less than a week passed before Cordelia found herself tramping through the woods with a bag of groceries over her arm. “Misty?” she called as she entered the garden, just as beautiful and brilliant as before. She couldn’t hear the music playing. “Misty?” Wandering around the garden, she finally took a seat on a soft log outside the shack and decided to wait, since Misty had to come home eventually to her foodsource. 

Cordelia rested there for more than two hours and, much to her chagrin, began to eat through the bag of potato chips she had brought for Misty. It was nearing sunset. _Should I be concerned?_ She didn’t know if Misty regularly stayed out past dark, but she couldn’t imagine trying to find her way out of the swamp without the sunlight to guide her. But then, the sound of soft footsteps breached the birdsong and wind lullabies, and Cordelia lifted her head to watch as Misty emerged from the bushes. The amber and pink sunset streaked behind her, striking her alabaster skin and setting off her nude silhouette like that of a goddess—for, dripping wet and hair sodden, Misty was as naked as the day she was born. Her drenched hair ran rivulets down her back. The humidity made it poof outward as it dried. Sitting there on the log, Misty’s captive audience ogled and drank in the sight of her birthday suit before her. Her body hair was untouched. She grew as recklessly and unruly as the forest she tended. Scars marred her body, faint from where she had healed with magic but still visible—her abdomen, her chest, her collarbones, all faint ripples of burns where a flame had grazed her skin. Healing scratches and other wounds decorated her legs and arms. A smattering of freckles had begun to collect on her cheeks from sun exposure. 

Blue eyes danced toward the sky before they spotted Cordelia. “Jesus Christ!” She sprang behind her cluster of sunflowers and used their heads to block her breasts, as if Cordelia hadn’t already seen them and sundry. “How long have you been here?”

Cordelia checked her watch. “Two and a half hours.” She looked back up at Misty. She was artwork in this position, sunflowers covering her breasts, her frazzled hair catching the light just _so._ Licking her lips, she dropped the open bag of chips. “I called, but you never came. I didn’t want to go looking for you and get turned around.”

“I was a bit south. Bartering for stuff from the market.” For the first time, Cordelia noticed the picnic basket full of things Misty had brought with her. There was shampoo and soap, both of which were newly opened, and some washcloths and towels and handmade clothes and blankets. Misty ducked down behind the thicket, taking a new patchwork dress with her, and she emerged wearing it. “You waited around this long just to see if I was coming back around?” Cordelia nodded. “What were you gonna do if I didn’t show up?”

_She has a good question._ Cordelia pursed her lips. “I guess I would’ve figured it out if it got dark and you still weren’t here. I figured you had to come home before the sun set. You’ve got a lot of things, but I don’t think you’ve got night vision.” She swept her eyes up Misty, admiring the homemade dress with a tilt of her head. It was beautiful and fit her well, but she couldn’t help but think that Misty preferred clothing more her style—this was more suitable for a churchgoing grandma than a witch. “Misty, I can get you clothes.” 

A chuckle followed. “You telling me ‘Amish grandma who can’t find her bonnet’ ain’t my best look?” She picked up the back of chips and carried the basket into her shack. “Nah, these clothes hold up a lot better than anything you can buy at the Walmart. Got some flannels and blankets, too, being winter’s around the corner. I reckon these chips are for me?” Cordelia nodded again. Misty stuffed them in her mouth. “Good god, I miss carbs. What else you got in there?”

A grin broke Cordelia’s countenance. “I was told you have a certain fondness for cinnamon raisin bagels!” She followed Misty into the shack and sat down in the creaky old rocking chair. The smile didn’t leave her face. She hadn’t smiled this much since she left Misty the last time. Just seeing her brightened her day. Misty waved her hand, and the candles around the cabin illuminated the dark room. “And bread, in case you wanted some sandwiches, and a couple shelf-stable snack items.” 

As the sun sank lower below the pink horizon, a chill punctured the air of the room. “Hey, thanks. I appreciate it, lilypad.” Cordelia blushed. “Come over here. It’s about to get cold. The fog rolls in at night, now.” Obediently, Cordelia sat beside Misty on the croaking, musty old twin-sized mattress. _I’m going to have to stay the night here,_ Cordelia realized. She couldn’t wander around in the dark and hope to find her way back to her car. “How’s things at the school? Anybody dead yet?” Misty asked. She collected one of the new blankets she had brought with her and spread it over their laps, and then she held out the bag of chips to share with Cordelia. In the dim, flickering candlelight, Misty’s face lit up with a smile. It touched Cordelia’s soul. _I missed her smile._

Taking out a handful of chips, Cordelia shrugged. “She didn’t die, but it was close.” Misty’s eyebrows quirked. “She read the part in _Harry Potter_ where Neville’s uncle dropped him out the window and he bounced. She wanted to know if it would work.”

“It didn’t?” Misty guessed. 

“It absolutely did not.” 

Misty snorted. “Kids are such idiots.” She chewed her potato chips and pulled out one of several canteens of water she had, offering it to Cordelia, as well. Misty had so little here, but nothing of hers was off-limits to Cordelia; she was prepared to share everything she had. “I bet you patched her right up, though.” 

Cordelia raised her eyebrows and gave a half-shrug. “I did what I could. I’m not you, though.” She had no doubt Misty would’ve been able to fix the girl’s broken limbs much more effectively than she had done it. Misty’s unique healing soul magic was something not even a Supreme could replicate. Misty’s power of resurgence held so much more pull than Vitalum Vitalis. “But I hope no one else does anything stupid for awhile. I mean, they all had to watch us peel her off the driveway—”

“Oh, she wasn’t even smart enough to do it over the grass? I bet that splatter was disgusting.” Misty said it so flatly that Cordelia cracked up, her smile breaking wide open. “I mean, for real. We’re really just mostly meat and juice, and when we die, the juice tends to go places you wouldn’t expect.” Cordelia nearly choked on her potato chip as she closed her eyes, a stitch forming in her side and tears blossoming to her eyes. Misty egged her on. “Did you pressure wash all the witch juice off the sidewalk or leave it as an omen for witches to come?” 

Tilting her head back, Cordelia laughed, eyes and nose burning. “Pressure wash,” she croaked, gulping down the dry chip. She coughed. Misty gave her the canteen again, and this time, she drank from it. The swamp water tasted sweet, like tea. She broke up laughing again, and water came out her nose. “God, I haven’t laughed about it, but you’re right, it’s so fucking stupid. I shouldn’t laugh, because she’s twelve, but—I had to buy a pressure washer to hose _guts_ off of my driveway.” 

“Bet that kid was psyched when she got her letter to Hogwarts,” Misty teased her, leading Cordelia to break up in laughter again. She put the chips away and licked her fingers free of the salt, and then she put her arm around Cordelia’s waist. “You take good care of those girls. You can laugh at the stupid things they do when it’s just us.” Cordelia nestled up against Misty’s body. She was warm in spite of the chill pervading the room. _This is so nice._ It felt so natural to press herself against Misty. “I’m glad you came back. I missed you,” Misty said, and Cordelia bit her tongue on her surprise that she was just about to express the same sentiment. “C’mon. It’s cold, and I’m not walking you back now that the sun is down.” Misty pulled up the covers and rolled underneath them, pressing herself against the far end of the mattress. She patted the space beside her for Cordelia to fill it. 

Cordelia did. Under the blankets with Misty’s body so near to hers, it wasn’t as cold, but the tips of her ears still noticed the crispness of the air. “Misty?” 

“Hm?”

“It’s already so cold. What are you going to do when it’s really winter?” She reached for Misty’s body under the blankets, hoping to draw them nearer, and as she placed a hand on Misty’s hip, Misty reciprocated. They scooted together. Cordelia could taste Misty’s breath. “You won’t be able to grow much… What will you eat?” 

“I been alone in the winter before, lilypad. This isn’t new to me.” Misty tucked a lock of hair behind Cordelia’s ear. “You worry a lot. I don’t need anybody to worry about me. You’ve got plenty on your plate. You know, what with crazy girls jumping out of buildings and summoning demons and stuff. I’ll be just as alright as the animals are.” Misty cupped her cheek in her hand. Under the blankets, the candlelight was mostly invisible, but the last silhouette of Misty’s face as she eliminated the flames. 

Cordelia pursed her lips. “I would feel better if you came home… If only for the cold months.” What if Misty got sick? What if she fell under some ice? What if she couldn’t keep warm? What if she couldn’t keep enough to eat? “There’s so much that could happen to you out here, and I wouldn’t know about it. I want to keep you safe.” 

“I can keep myself safe. The last thing you need is another mouth to feed cluttering up your house.” Cordelia’s face fell in distress. Was that all Misty thought of herself as, another mouth to feed? Another burden? Cordelia didn’t think of any of her witches as burdens—even the stupid ones who jumped out of buildings in the hopes their magic would make them bounce—but Misty was so much more to her than that. _What is she?_ she wondered. She didn’t have an easy answer to that. “I’ll be okay,” Misty promised her. “And if this is the first winter New Orleans sees snow, I’ll come cozy up with you, ‘cause I don’t think my roof will support a heavy burden like that and I don’t care for getting crushed in my sleep.” 

A hand fumbled under the blankets and landed on Misty’s cheek, caressing the skin there. “You aren’t a burden to me, Misty. You’re not clutter. I _want you_ to be around me. I _want you_ to come home with me.” 

Misty’s face curled into a smile. All of her dimples rose under Cordelia’s palm. “I appreciate the sentiment, lilypad.” 

“It’s not a sentiment!” Cordelia insisted. “I love you! You mean more to me than what you can offer the coven, or how much space you take up, or how much you’re going to eat. I miss _you._ I want _you._ ” 

Silence answered her. Cordelia’s heart ached. How could she make it clear to Misty that she was loved? Misty leaned forward, touching their noses together. For a moment, Cordelia thought Misty would kiss her, and she puckered her lips in an eager anticipation. But instead, Misty lingered there, breathing in one another’s breaths. “I love you, too.” The facial muscles beneath Cordelia’s hand twitched, coming to life. “I’m glad you came to see me. It makes me happy to see you here… to be with you.” Her forehead touched Cordelia’s as she leaned forward, but they didn’t kiss yet. _I want to kiss her._ Cordelia didn’t think of the meaning for that instinct. “But I gotta go my own way. I can help you more, being out here. Being a safe place you can go when things get rough. That’s what I want to be for you.”

_That’s what I want to be for you._ Misty needed a safe space much more than Cordelia did. Her shack had no insulation, no electricity, no running water, no windows, single-layer walls, a dirt floor. She had nothing. She needed food and shelter and clean water… All Cordelia needed was a confidant. “You can be that for me wherever you are, but somewhere with cooked food and electricity… Somewhere I can see you every day.” Misty shook her head. Cordelia bit her lower lip. “Think about it, please? For me?” 

“Goodnight, lilypad.” It was a refusal if Cordelia had ever heard one. Misty refused to leave. 

…

The coven swept Cordelia into its problems and its drama, and autumn set in with a vengeance, whipping in thunderstorms. Thrice, she drove down the road where she knew she could find the trail that led to Misty’s shack, and each time, she encountered high water over the road and blockades forbidding her from passing. The third time she put her car in reverse and backed up the road to find a good place to turn around, her heart plummeted down through her diaphragm. How would she find out if Misty was okay? Thunder crackled overhead, and as she turned around to head back to the academy, more of the seasonal rainfall cascaded over the land. 

By the time the waters receded from the roadways, it was late November. “Might be the wettest winter we’ve had on record here in New Orleans,” the car radio announced to Cordelia as she drove. “One of the coldest, too. If we keep an eye on the ocean, it looks like this might be a bad hurricane season for our folks on the coastline.” Cordelia swallowed a lump in her throat. _Oh, Misty._

The gravel lot where she parked her car had washed away and was instead a low accumulation of driftwood, mulch, and mud. She pulled as far off of the roadway as she could without getting stuck in the ick. Swinging out of the car, she sank into her rainboots and took the tote out of her trunk, filled with blankets and heavy coats she had collected over the days for Misty. She sank up to her ankles in the muck, and making her way to the line of trees was no walk in the park. _It’s only uphill from here._

She was right. The water had risen so much that marks lined the trees. Her heartbeat thrummed harder, louder. How had Misty survived? How could she have escaped? Cordelia stepped over a couple fallen trees pulled down by the winds. She skated through the mud and the puddles, emerging from the foliage where she had last seen Misty’s garden. 

The water had swept all of Misty’s hard work down into the earth and splattered it with dirt. A few hardy plants, still spattered with mud and dulled, had begun to rear their heads. Cordelia’s mouth dried. She licked her lips. “Misty?” she called, pressing forward. The shack had collapsed on itself. “Misty?” she called out. Several large, dry pieces of plywood were propped up against a nearby tree, along with a ladder. _She’s been here,_ Cordelia realized. There was a hammer and nails, and the old, collapsed pieces were arranged to make a floor. _She’s trying to rebuild._ How far would Misty take this? She had a perfectly good home to live in! It had four walls and a roof, which was better than Misty could say for herself right now. “Misty?” 

“I was wondering when you’d show up.” Misty pushed through the brambles with a huge wheelbarrow of straw. “Figured you’d be coming through once the roads were clear. Was hoping to have all this set back up before you saw it.” 

Misty was _wasting away._ She had lost weight—how much, Cordelia couldn’t know, but more than enough to exacerbate her beautiful face into a sharp, gaunt countenance. Her cheeks were hollow. Even her hands were thinner. Cordelia surveyed the land. Misty hadn’t revived her garden yet because she _couldn’t_. She was starving, and her magic was suffering. “Misty…” Cordelia’s voice cracked. “I was so worried.”

“I told you I’m alright.” She parked the wheelbarrow and faced Cordelia. “I got sense. There’s an abandoned barn on the crest of the hill, mile and a half or so thataways. Always climb up there when there’s flooding, into the old hayloft.” She had the frame set up for the new shack already. “Mind helping me set this up?”

Eye twitching, tears rolled down Cordelia’s cheeks. “Mind? Yes, I mind! Look at you! You’re skin and bones! How long did you go without food?” Misty looked down at herself, as if realizing for the first time how skeletal her body had become in the past month. “I have a place for you to stay! Where it’s warm, and it’s safe, and you’ll never be hungry! Where I can hold you when I’m worried about you instead of trying to drive my car through high water!” Misty turned away from her and went to the base of her building. She picked up the hammer and the nails and set the first wall in place. “What? No—No, don’t _ignore_ me!” 

“I told you, I ain’t talking about it. This is my home. I found my white gator, and she’s safe, so now I’m making myself a place to be safe.”

“ _You have a place to be safe!_ ” Cordelia stomped across the swampy earth. “Why? What is it? Is it pride? Why won’t you come with me? Are you trying to punish me? I’m punished! I’ve been worrying myself sick about you!” Misty’s shoulders were tight. She hammered the nails into place, not looking back at Cordelia. A sob cracked Cordelia’s face. “Why?” she whimpered, her voice losing all of its strength. “Why can’t you come with me?” 

Gentle hands collected Cordelia’s hair. Misty’s hands were frigid where they brushed up against her face. She had raw calluses forming. “Lilypad…” She scanned Cordelia’s crumpled face. “I _can’t_ go back. Okay?” Cordelia shook her head, protesting an unintelligible series of sounds. She needed an explanation. “I—” 

Misty sighed heavily, fatigue wearing from her very breath. “I can’t go back because that’s—that’s where I was, the last time I heard your voice.” Desperate brown eyes found hers. “When you were calling me to come back, and I couldn’t. And I could hear your voice, and how much hurt it was causing you that I couldn’t wake up. And I decided I wouldn’t hurt you like that again.” Tears slipped down Cordelia’s cheeks in twin streams, synchronized swimmers where they drifted. “And—I know you were hurt, but it’s only a matter of time before you start dating again.” This surprised Cordelia. She hadn’t even given any thought to someone else, after Hank… except Misty. She had many times imagined Misty in her arms, imagined her kisses, imagined more, thinking she was just imagining because she was desperate and lonely and craved her friend. “And I can’t stand the thought of having to see the woman I love with somebody else. I figure I’m happier where, when you’re done with me, you just stop coming around, and my life is more or less the same.” 

All of the liquid drained from Cordelia’s mouth. “Misty,” she croaked, “I’ve been _trying_ to tell you that I want you to be with me… This whole time…” She cupped Misty’s cheeks. Her face was cold and pale, the skin paper thin. “I _love_ you. All I think about is how much I wish you were with me! Not—Not because of anything you can do, not because I feel guilty, but because I want _you._ I want _you_ in my bed at night, and I want to see _you_ over my breakfast, and what I want more than anything is to know the woman _I_ love is not drowning and starving out here in the swamp.”

Tender blue eyes met hers. Misty’s bony fingers tilted Cordelia’s jaw up and pressed a kiss to her lips. It was soft and hot, crackling with tension. Cordelia flung her arms around Misty’s cold body, she pressed them tight against one another. Misty hugged her in return, clutching her near to her frail body. “Lilypad,” she whispered into Cordelia’s lips, and Cordelia broke away to allow her to speak. A shadow crossed Misty’s face. “Are you just saying that so I’ll come with you?” 

Shaking her head vigorously, Cordelia insisted, “ _No._ ” She touched Misty’s curls. Even her hair had gone brittle from malnutrition. “I want you beside me… I always want you beside me.” She wanted to warm Misty’s cold body. “I mourned you, and then I found you again, and all I want is to be yours.” 

The shadow didn’t pass from Misty’s face. She surveyed the beginnings of her shack. “I… I believe you, I think.” _You think?_ “It’s hard for me to believe anyone finds value in me, as I am. And I don’t know if I’m ready to accept that, yet.” 

“You’re dying out here,” Cordelia begged. “You have nothing to eat. It’s almost December. This is going to be one of the coldest, wettest winters on record. What are you going to do?” 

“If I die, I come back,” Misty reminded her. 

“But what if you don’t? I can’t lose you again.” 

“I will. I’ll always come back to you.” Misty loosened her hold from Cordelia and went to the wall, hanging in the wind where it was partially nailed upright. “Do you mind?” she asked again, softly, and this time, Cordelia went to her side and propped up the wall as she nailed it into place. 

They worked by the hour, setting up the four walls and the roof. Misty didn’t have a hinge to place the door yet, so the door frame hung wide open. Her limited furniture had been destroyed. She used the old scrap wood from her old shack as a floor and spread the straw across it. As the darkness gathered overhead, she unrolled a sleeping back upon the floor. “Where did you get this?” Cordelia asked. “The sleeping bag, the straw, the wheelbarrow…” Misty’s limbs trembled with effort, as she had worked to revive a tomato plant so she had something to eat. Cordelia feared she had spent more energy forcing the plant to blossom into some orange tomatoes than the fruit would provide for her. 

“I got friends up at the market. Loaned me stuff when I told ‘em my place was knocked over. Lots of ‘em been there. Couple of them from the ninth ward.” 

“But they didn’t come to help?”

“I don’t let anybody know where I am.” Misty unzipped the sleeping bag. “C’mon, lilypad.” Cordelia crawled into the sleeping bag, and Misty slid in after her, zipping it all the way up so only a tiny hole remained for fresh air to get inside. This blocked the chill, and their bodies soon heated the space between them. “I’ve been so cold lately,” Misty confessed into Cordelia’s neck as they pressed their hot skins against one another. 

_Even her breath is cooler than mine._ Misty’s body didn’t have the energy to expend to keep her temperature sustainable. “Let me warm you up, sweetheart.” Cordelia took Misty’s hands between hers and rubbed, bringing some life back into them. She leaned forward in the blackness until she found Misty’s lips, kissing her hard. Misty nuzzled back into the kiss. She couldn’t press hard into it. “Can I make love to you?” Cordelia asked her, her nose trailing along Misty’s cheekbone. “It will make you warmer.” Misty hesitated, and for a moment, Cordelia thought she would refuse, but then she nodded, making a quiet, pleasant noise of agreement. 

The quarters were too tight for them to move around much or strip of their clothing. Cordelia kissed down Misty’s neck, hands scouring across her body. A hand wormed its way up under Misty’s dress. Her ribs greeted Cordelia’s palm, physically heaving with each hard breath Misty puffed out at her. She mumbled quiet, approving sounds. Cordelia kissed the underside of her jaw as she caressed Misty’s chest. “Oh… That feels good,” Misty whispered. As she relaxed from the stress of the days of fighting for her own survival, her eyes fell closed. “Lilypad…” Her eyelashes brushed Cordelia’s skin. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” Cordelia’s hands slid lower, hiking up the skirt of her dress. She nibbled on Misty’s shoulder. Misty produced a thin giggle. She pressed her face into the crook of Cordelia’s neck. “Do you want me to keep going?” Misty nodded. 

Misty wasn’t wearing underwear. Cordelia wondered why she was surprised—if she knew anyone who seemed prone to going commando, it was probably Misty. She stroked the thick peach fuzz of Misty’s upper thigh, moving into her untended garden of pubic hair. Misty’s breath wafted across her neck, pants growing heavier as Cordelia’s fingers parted her outer labia. “Mm…” She held on to Cordelia tightly. “Please…” 

Cordelia nestled against her. Misty was so good, so kind, so gentle, so magical, and now she was Cordelia’s. _I can change her mind now… I have to be able to change her mind, now._ Her middle finger stroked up Misty’s clitoris. Her hips jerked in response. She cried a muffled cry, stifled in the crook of Cordelia’s neck. Her hair moved around Cordelia in a frizzy, humid cloud. Her finger formed loose, wide circles, worshipping as Misty’s body twitched in response to the stimulus. She didn’t take any other action. Misty was exhausted. She needed to relax. Cordelia could grant her some relief, some reprieve, and then she could sleep. “You’re so beautiful, Misty,” Cordelia whispered to her. “Relax… I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Let me take care of you.” She rolled her finger over Misty’s clitoris faster, the circles growing tighter. Her hips jerked in uneven motions in response. “Isn’t that good?” 

“Yes…” Misty’s voice was a whisper. “Mm…” She lifted her hips into Cordelia’s touch. Her other muscles gradually loosened, the tension rolling out of her body and into Cordelia’s. She grew more comfortable. Cordelia’s single finger drew nearer to the nub of her clitoris. “Oh!” The hushed cry emerged. “Delia…” She spread her legs further apart. Her hand gripped Cordelia’s shirt a little tighter. “I’m tingling,” she stammered. “I—I’m getting close.” 

Cordelia pressed her mouth to Misty’s ear. “Come for me,” she beckoned, a prayer, a plea. “Come for me.” She scraped her teeth down Misty’s neck. 

With a muted whimper, Misty’s lower abdomen clenched. She released, her clitoris swelling and twitching. “Ngh!” It was a tight sound. The tension inside of her flowed out as she bloomed. She gasped for breath, her back arching and then melting back against Cordelia’s body, fluid as warm chocolate. “Delia…” 

Her hands reached for Cordelia, clumsily pawing with intentions of returning the favor, but Cordelia caught them and kissed her. “Sleep,” she whispered into Misty’s mouth. “Sleep… We have the whole future for that.” Misty’s head fell heavily against Cordelia’s body, her breath coming in wheezes as she struggled to come back down. “I’ll hold you until the morning. I’ll keep you warm… I’ll keep you safe.” 

Misty’s arms looped around her. “Thank you, lilypad.” She said nothing more, and within minutes, her breath evened out in sleep. 

The morning came, but under the sleeping bag, the light didn’t touch them. Cordelia stirred to find herself smothered in warmth but the space beside her vacant. She reached for the zipper and unzipped it, poking her head out. Sunlight cracked through fat wafts of fog, slowly dissipating. Cordelia’s hands reached to tug herself out. Her back cracked loudly. She crawled across the earth, standing upright. The late morning air was cold, but the tote she had brought had been opened, so she took a soft cotton flannel and stuck her arms in it as she left the shack. “Misty?”

Overnight, the garden had bloomed again. It wasn’t as vibrant as before. Misty had magic, but she couldn’t fix the destroyed pH of the soil or replace the nutrients the plants needed. Fatigue glimmered in her eyes, but she smiled. The silver fog set off her pale golden curls. “Morning, lilypad.” Misty had a pawpaw fruit in her hand, sliced in half like an avocado, picking the seeds out. “How’d you sleep?”

“Better, with you beside me.” At her words, Misty smiled. She sliced the slightly unripe fruit and offered a piece to Cordelia, who opened her mouth. She didn’t like pawpaw fruit. But she loved Misty. Misty put it on her tongue, and Cordelia closed her mouth, sucking on Misty’s fingertips. Misty grinned as she slid her fingers from Cordelia’s soft, wet mouth. She chewed and she swallowed. “Will you come back with me?” Cordelia asked hopefully. Maybe it would be different now, in the morning. 

Misty’s eyes left hers. Cordelia heard the _no_ before Misty said anything at all. Azure eyes stretched out at the mist before her, the heavy fog clinging to the land so they couldn’t see beyond the garden. The sunlight wasn’t powerful enough to penetrate the fog and dissipate it yet. The chilly humidity set the hair standing up on the back of Cordelia’s neck. “I always love the foggy mornings like this,” Misty said. It was just cool enough for her breath to form a cloud. “When I’ve been most alone… When nobody knew I was here… I always felt like God sent the mist to tell me somebody still knew my name. Somebody still knew I was alive.” She picked through her pawpaw fruit. “This will always be my first home.” 

Pressing a kiss to Misty’s cheek, Cordelia’s eyes downcast. She was being too harsh. Misty loved this place. She couldn’t just rip Misty away from the land that had supported her when humanity fell short. “I understand,” she whispered. She rested her head on Misty’s shoulder for a moment, eyes following the dim sunlight as it touched Misty’s face. “I have a meeting this afternoon.” _I wish I didn’t have to leave._ The birdsong brought her a peace she could never know at the academy. “I’ll come back tomorrow.” She stood from the rotting log where Misty sat. 

“I didn’t say no.”

Cordelia paused, lingering with her feet in the mud. “You did, though.” Misty turned back to look at her. Misty was her most beautiful here, the mist, in the sunlight piercing the cloud just enough to illuminate her gold-spun hair and the periwinkle dancing in her eyes. “That’s okay. I can come here until you’re ready. I was wrong to try to force you.” Misty’s toothy smile caught the light. Cordelia forgot how much she had missed it.

…

Cordelia kept her promise. She visited Misty almost every day, and she brought any food that didn’t have to be refrigerated. Misty regained what she had lost, her cheeks filling back out, and while she had to battle to keep the frost from destroying her garden, she always had a bagel to fall back on. Meanwhile, Misty made her way to the market and accumulated more things. She got a memory foam mattress she put on top of the straw. When she was alone, she bundled in her sleeping bag. When she was with Cordelia, they wrapped in blankets and made love. 

“We’re supposed to get storms next week,” Cordelia breathed against Misty’s bare neck after one of their more intense sessions. Misty’s nude, sweaty body jutted against hers. She kissed her neck. “Do you want to come home with me? In case it floods again?” 

“I’ll be alright,” Misty said faintly. She pecked Cordelia on the lips. “And I got a strong witch to take care of me if I’m not.” 

Cordelia pinched her bottom. “You bet you do.” She hugged Misty’s body near to hers. “I adore you, Misty.” 

“And I, you, lilypad.” 

“Why do you call me that?” 

“‘Cause you make my heart float. Like a lilypad on the water.” Cordelia laughed, and then, reluctantly, she began to disentangle herself from Misty’s body. “You enjoy your meeting. You tell me all about it when you come back.” Misty watched from under the covers as Cordelia began to dress herself. “Every time I see you, I think there’s no way you could ever get more beautiful, and every time I see you again, you prove me wrong.” 

Cordelia beamed. Misty made her feel beautiful. She blew Misty a kiss. “I’ll see my goddess very soon.” 

“Tell her I said hi.” Misty stretched out languidly across the mattress.

Tossing her head back, Cordelia laughed. “You’re silly.” She dressed herself quickly. “I love you. I’ll be back tomorrow night or the next morning.” 

“I’ll hold you to it.”

The next day, Cordelia drove to Baton Rouge for the education meeting, but as she entered the building, a mass of people headed for the lobby. “Meeting is canceled,” said a man in a suit. “Edna turned this way. People gotta go home. Some are evacuating. It’s supposed to hit tonight, but the winds are picking up, so it may be faster.”

Cordelia’s mouth fell open. “Evacuating? Is it getting stronger?”

He shrugged. “Category three. But some of these folks survived Katrina. Can’t blame them for being cautious. They just wanna be safe.” He scanned her. “You’re the private school principal from New Orleans, aren’t you?” Cordelia nodded. “You oughta be safe. Really, the weather said all the major cities would be safe. It’s the coastal lagoons and swamps they’re worried about. What with the animals, native flora and fauna. They were already worried about the flooding sweeping away stuff, and now we’re looking at trees being uprooted and stuff. But, hey, meeting’s canceled. Do you wanna grab a coffee?” 

Whirling on her heel, Cordelia flipped away from him. “Maybe some other time!” she called after herself as she sprinted back to her vehicle. Swinging into her car, she cranked it and rocketed out of the parking lot. The dark clouds clustered fat in the sky above her. A hurricane hitting New Orleans was scary—but a hurricane hitting the swamp where Misty lived with no protection from the weather? She couldn’t live with herself if she allowed the water to rise over the road before she saved Misty this time. The thunderstorms had been bad enough, but a hurricane—that was worse. 

She jetted down the interstate on her path back to New Orleans and beyond. The rain pelted down in great sheets. Her windshield wipers tossed water left and right, doing little to improve her visibility. The winds picked up and trees bowed down over the road as she hydroplaned across the asphalt. Her jaw tight, Cordelia’s vehicle worked its way through the packed city. Indeed, some people were panicking and evacuating, and the city traffic had nearly come to a standstill. “Jesus Christ!” Cordelia resisted the urge to beat her steering wheel. 

The rain fell harder. She cranked up the radio so she could hear it over the sound of the wind. “Hurricane Edna has changed its course and will glance off of the Florida coast in its path toward more southern coast states. Brace yourselves for some heavy rain, high winds, hail, not to mention some backed up interstates!” 

Cordelia got off the interstate. _I can take back roads._ But it would take twice as long. The sky shuddered into a green hue. She powered through the raging winds down a county road and set her GPS to take her to the swamp as the rains fell in a torrent. 

It took her two more hours in the wind and the rain to find the place where she parked her car. Hail fragments spit from the sky. Her radio lost reception. Holding up her purse over her head to protect herself from the balls the size of hickory nuts, she sank in the mud, hitting the trail. The trees bowed over with the blasts of wind which threatened to steer Cordelia off her course. She caught onto a tree trunk to keep from getting blown all the way down, and she fought through the winds. “Misty!” she shouted. 

Breaking through the line of trees into Misty’s garden, Cordelia watched as Misty fled from her shack. She dove into the brambles and covered her head and neck like a child in a tornado drill as the shack careened. With a series of pops and crackles, her shack leaned. It was almost slow, the way it started to fall, and then it caved in all at once, spitting splinters in all directions. Misty lifted herself from the bramble bush, thorns clinging to her clothes and skin, and her wide blue eyes regarded the wreckage of her shack in horror. Cordelia ran to her side. The thunder and wind roared overhead. “Misty!” she called again, screaming over the sound of the wind. She took Misty’s hand. “Are you alright?”

“This is one helluva storm.” Misty looked back at her shack again. “The winds ain’t been like this yet.”

“It’s not a storm, it’s a hurricane! C’mon!” Cordelia took Misty by her elbow and dragged at her, but Misty sank her feet into the mud. “Misty, this is _not the time_ to be sentimental!” But blue eyes gave one last, long look around the swamp, and then they met Cordelia’s. Misty nodded once, with a small, frightened smile. 

In a series of crackles and pops, both of them lifted their heads to an ancient oak tree standing alongside the garden. Misty’s eyes widened in fear as the trunk leaned, propelled by the wind. She stood beneath it, the reflection in her horrified eyes. The ancient tree’s roots yanked up from the earth as gravity overtook it. “Misty!” Misty didn’t move. Cordelia dove at her, tackling her, and Misty’s knees caved. They both tumbled into her bed of dying sunflowers. 

The tree crashed to the earth. Its long branches pinned Cordelia to the ground, where she guarded Misty’s body with her own, curling on top of her like a soft turtle retreating into its shell. The branches smacked against her body like switches, each smarting blow taking her breath away, until finally it grew still. “Misty—” Cordelia pushed herself up from the ground, fighting the gravity of the heavy branches on her back. “Are you—”

“‘M okay.” Misty wormed out from under her, flipping onto her back and scooting away from the tree trunk. She took both of Cordelia’s hands into hers and hauled her out from under the trunk. “Delia—” Cordelia stumbled to her feet, wrapping her arms around Misty’s body. “You could’ve died.”

“Had to protect you.” Cordelia blinked the dazedness from her heavy eyes. She found Misty’s eyes, round with sadness and adoration, and she remembered the first time she had found Misty here—the way Misty had looked so forlorn, so afraid, when she looked at Cordelia and asked, _How do I know I can trust you?_ Cordelia licked her lips. “Do you trust me now?” 

Misty tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear and kissed the tip of her nose. “I do,” she whispered, a promise. “C’mon, lilypad… Let’s go home.” 

_Home._ For so long, she and Misty had not had the same home. _Not anymore._ “Let’s.” The world around them swept into tumult, but Misty’s hand was in hers, and Cordelia had never been more at ease. 


End file.
